


Dirty Kevin Joins a Cult

by Forestwater



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: 'deleted scenes' of season 4 ep 9 "Camp Loser Says What?", (as much as you can while throwing kevdan in there anyway), (so please tell me if i make major mistakes), Antagonistic Romance, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, antagonistic friendship, at least i'm gonna try like hell to keep it canon compliant through season 4, author couldn't decide if this was supposed to be funny or angsty, kevin and daniel are gay disasters change my mind, proofreading is for the weak and i am the strongest of them all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestwater/pseuds/Forestwater
Summary: “Caught your eye, huh?” he finally said, feeling like he was stepping into the mouth of a giant bear trap -- which was stupid and paranoid, but Kevin had made a long career out of stupidity and paranoia, and it had served him too well to stop now.“I can see potential, Kevin.” Daniel’s hands tightened around his, and he led them over to the other “recruits” gently, like he thought they would scatter as they got nearer to one another. He paused just out of their earshot, turning back so that for a moment they were in a bubble of silent, still air. “And there’s something about you that strikes me asveryspecial.”
Relationships: Daniel/Dirty Kevin (Camp Camp), Dirty Kevin & Flower Scouts (Camp Camp), Kevdan, mentions of Kevin's ex, mentions of danvid flirtation but nothing shown, mentions of gwenvid but nothing shown
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. In which Kevin makes yet another bad decision

# Chapter 1

“-- But they are a fundamental part of the history of this great planet, a planet that we all know was rescued from the Negabytes’ Fortress, by the all-powerful Xemüg!”

Kevin was beginning to regret elbowing his way into the crowd; what had seemed from the window of Muffin Tops like an interesting diversion was obviously a lot weirder than he’d anticipated. “Is he still talking about the Wood Scouts?” he muttered to the person next to him, only turning when a flicker of maroon streaked into the corner of his vision -- a color he’d know anywhere, saw in his dreams. Associated so thoroughly with shame and longing that before his mind registered it, his heart ached with a stab of yearning that momentarily ripped the breath from his chest.

“Lee --” he began, his mouth opening even before he’d fully turned around, The splash of burgundy was further away now, a short, frizzy ponytail and the profile of a familiarly annoyed face. Not noticing him, she reached up, tightened her ponytail with a sharp yank, and disappeared into the crowd as it began to disperse.

Gwen, right. The little sister. He’d heard she was back in town, working at one of the camps. 

Without her brother, Leon.

Which was super fine, not to mention normal and in no way utterly devastating. (And Dirty Kevin now had zero intentions of abandoning all his plans for the evening to go home and blubber over a pint of ice cream about ghosts from high school.)

_ Get it together, you fucking gay disaster. _

He groaned inwardly and turned back to the small barrel that served as the town’s open-air stage -- 

“Why, hello there!”

\-- ending up nose-to-nose with the man who’d just been up there, rambling about popcorn and history and Xemüg.

“Jesus _ Christ!” _ He stumbled back -- nearly knocking over a tiny old woman with a crippling (and lucrative) opioid addiction. “Sorry, Helen,” he mumbled breathlessly, righting himself and trying to control his galloping heart rate before turning his attention back to the blond stranger. “What d’you want?” _ You absolute freak. _

He cocked his head to the side, smiling widely. “My name is Daniel,” he said, slowly enunciating each word like the host of a children’s show, and Kevin got the immediate sense he was being fucked with. “And something about you caught my eye, so I just had to say hello!”

“Something.” Yeah, _ something _like yelling his ex’s name in the middle of a crowd of people. “So . . . hi. I should go.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry!” Daniel’s fingers closed around his wrist, his grip frigid and brittle and surprisingly strong. “You look like someone who has a lot of negativity in your life, Kevin.”

He froze. 

Okay, _ terrifying _. Time to get the hell away from the stranger who somehow knew his name. “I don’t believe in God,” he blurted out, not sure where he was going with this but figuring it had to be a decent Eject button out of this conversation. “Or aliens. So sorry and, uh . . . bye.”

“Kevin, Kevin,” Daniel said, gently wrapping his hand around the one he already had captive. “I’m not asking you to believe anything. All I want is for us to have a nice conversation!” His thumb drew small circles across Kevin’s knuckles in the same slow, unsettlingly smooth cadence of his voice.

_ (“You’re never too old not to talk to strangers,” _his mother intoned. Kevin wondered where she was, and what she was drinking.)

Daniel tilted his head to the other side with a startling _ crack._ “You sure do look like you could use a friend,” he added, his smile softening just a bit. “Why don’t you step over here with our other new recruits?”

He looked over to where Daniel was pointing. The crowd had largely evaporated into the sweltering dry air, and two people huddled anxiously by the barrel-stage. He’d known both of them for years, the same way everyone in Sleepy Peak had known everyone for years: there was a tall blond -- his hair as pale as Daniel’s but with a sickly yellow tinge, like he’d bought a cheaper version of the same dye -- who Kevin had been selling oregano-cut-with-weed and bootleg video games to since high school, which was way too long to admit that he couldn’t remember his name so in Kevin’s head he was just Jeffrey Jorts. And the other . . .

Weird Larry.

Weird Larry, who’d been in his sixties and just called Larry when Kevin was a kid, uglier than a troll but sharp as the razor blades he used to cut lines of cocaine. Normal Larry, who’d loaned his mom thousands of dollars and taught him how to make up the money and then some. Fun Larry, who told him he couldn’t build a brand without a nickname and that the girls went wild for a “dirty” bad boy. Cool Larry, the first person who’d heard the words “I think I might be gay” and who’d responded by clapping him on the shoulder and telling him he was better off, because women weren’t worth it. Eccentric Larry, who had an address book of clients and suppliers thicker than a Bible and carefully transferred each name and phone number onto Kevin’s phone -- in between using his data to Google alien abductions. Weird Larry, who once answered the door to his apartment with a gun in Kevin’s face and powder streaked under his nose and in his thinning hair.

Weird Larry, who remembered Dirty Kevin’s face but not his name or a single conversation they’d had, who’d moved into the trailer next door with his beautiful suits in a garbage bag and a tooth knocked crooked and dangling from his lower lip like a stubby cigarette.

_ Well, great. _

Dirty Kevin sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. It was a thousand degrees in the sunlight, and his hoodie was starting to feel oppressive. “Caught your eye, huh?” he finally said, feeling like he was stepping into the mouth of a giant bear trap -- which was stupid and paranoid, but Kevin had made a long career out of stupidity and paranoia, and it had served him too well to stop now.

“I can see potential, Kevin.” Daniel’s hands tightened around his, and he led them over to the other “recruits” gently, like he thought they would scatter as they got nearer to one another. He paused just out of their earshot, turning back so that for a moment they were in a bubble of silent, still air. “And there’s something about you that strikes me as _ very _special.”


	2. In which Daniel discovers this is all going to be much more annoying than he thought

# Chapter 2

Daniel did the best he could with what he was given.

He’d certainly become the most talented temporary-sauna-builder the world had ever seen, a skill being a camp counselor had made both much easier and less suspicious than if he was, say, an investment banker or politician. Not all were called to run the world, he knew, and the most humble of Xemüg’s servants would be the most rewarded.

Daniel told himself this a lot, especially when the mud and sweat and general _ filth _ of camp life were at their most unbearable. As he snapped on another pair of white latex gloves and dipped Weird Larry’s pants into a vat of diluted bleach -- _ see the things I am willing to do for you, Lord Xemüg? _ \-- he focused on the satisfying feeling of working the cleansing water into the fabric. The toxins leached out of the clothing, just like they were fleeing the bodies of the men in the purification sauna. It was beautiful, and he thought that even when he was able to improve his material situation and have the kind of ascension workshop that he was so close to deserving, he would like to at least occasionally bleach his followers’ clothes by hand, just for the pure, visceral experience of it.

He sat back on his heels, stripping the gloves off his hands (he didn’t technically need a new pair for every article of clothing, but it felt so much cleaner) and dropping them into the trash bag one of the Wood Scouts had rummaged up for him. It was black, and he wrinkled his nose, tossing it aside and making a mental note to tell Edward -- Edmund? No, he was pretty sure the spotty one’s name was Edward -- that he needed white trash bags only, and none of this drawstring nonsense.

Sometimes he truly believed Xemüg was testing him with the indignities and injustices he was forced to suffer. But it only made him more determined to do His will. 

(Yes, he was quite certain _ determination _was the emotion he was feeling.)

The next item to be cleaned was a dark red hoodie, the one that belonged to the drug dealer. “Dirty” Kevin -- he chuckled to himself at the shocked look on Kevin’s face when Daniel had known his name, as though he hadn’t just been speaking with the townspeople and gathering information on him! (He was sure Xemüg wouldn’t mind these little tricks; they were excellent for establishing authority and credibility, which was sometimes a challenging task in the toxic, negative world they were forced to exist in. But Daniel was someone who made use of his resources, no matter how few they were. It was one of the reasons he was chosen to be Xemüg’s chosen messenger here on Earth -- he just knew it!)

This one was special. Daniel hadn’t been lying when he told Kevin that he saw something remarkable in him, and while he wasn’t yet sure what was so captivating about the low-level miscreant with hooded green eyes, he wouldn’t be so foolish as to let him slip away -- not when Xemüg so obviously had big plans for him. He pulled on another pair of gloves and picked up the sweatshirt, surprised at how soft it was. Old, to be sure, almost worn see-through in places, but it draped like the finest altar cloth, shapeless and surprisingly dense.

He looked down at the tub of pale yellow water, relishing the nose-stinging tang that spoke of cleanliness and success. A far cry from the noxious smell of a life poorly lived, like the sun-warmed hoodie in his hands. He took a cautious sniff; always standing on the edges of the world’s foulness, Daniel couldn’t always resist the temptation to experience such things secondhand.

Daniel had been prepared to recoil from the scent, but aside from the blunt skunky smell of pot and the acrid, sour bite of cigarettes (smells he’d become far too familiar with at various summer camps) the sweatshirt was inoffensive, even pleasant. Then, driven by a compulsion he couldn’t quite understand, he drew the hoodie closer to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The light, vaguely cottony smell of clean laundry, vanilla -- and underneath something faint, musky, _ masculine _ . . . lived-in, like skin and sweat --

“Daniel!” He had half a second’s warning before Edward Pikeman ducked into his tent, and he jerked the sweatshirt away from his face like its toxins were contagious. “What are you doing?”

His fingers tightened, and he resisted the urge to reach for his knife. He was trying to build a following for Xemüg. He couldn’t do that if they were all stabbed. “I’m whitening the initiates’ clothes while they’re in the purification sauna,” he said instead, straightening his posture and smiling at nothing. Edward was to his back, but Daniel was positive a happy face would translate whether he could see it or not. “How are the Camp Campbell recruits adjusting?”

“They’re . . . settling in.” The unease in Pikeman’s voice made Daniel turn around, his eyebrows raising even as his smile remained firmly in place. The teenager was shuffling his feet across the dirt floor, scratching at the back of his neck, like he wasn’t sure what kind of news Daniel wanted to hear.

“Is that so?” He waited until Edward’s gaze lifted to his, then let his smile become slyer, conspiratorial. “No -- _ adjustment _pains, then?”

A flash of metal braces rewarded his efforts, and Pikeman seemed considerably more at ease, puffing out his chest and adding, “They aren’t very happy with the arrangement.”

“I’m sure they aren’t!” Perhaps it was beneath Daniel to feel any sort of petty satisfaction from the thought of the Camp Campbell campers -- and, of course, their infuriating happy-go-lucky counselor -- miserably suffering the Woodscouts’ terrible hospitality and waiting for whatever he had planned. But then again, didn’t Xemüg provide such small pleasures for his most faithful disciples to enjoy? “I hope you’re keeping an eye on them, Edward. Especially little Max.”

He wouldn’t let that child outsmart him again.

_ Xemüg _wouldn’t allow it.

Pikeman snapped a quick salute, his heels clicking together. “Of course! I have our best men guarding them at all hours!”

“Glad to hear it.” Daniel had to admit, there was something thoroughly appealing about having disciples. Maybe he wouldn’t “ascend” _ all _of them this time.

“Hmm!” The tent flap lifted again, and the tall child with the skull-smooth head stepped inside.

“Petrol,” Pikeman barked, sparing Daniel the pressure of trying to remember the boy’s name, “are the town recruits finished in the . . .” He shot an uneasy glance at Daniel, the hesitation a minute criticism that he decided to ignore. “Decontamination chamber?”

“Purification sauna,” he amended cheerfully, noting with irritation that Pikeman chose not to correct himself. (Explaining the purification process as a removal of toxins and impurities had led to some confusion as to what it was actually used for, but as long as the misunderstanding benefited his cause -- his, and of course Xemüg’s -- Daniel was willing to let it remain a mystery.)

Petrol nodded, and Daniel quickly removed the clothes from the bleach, almost forgetting to change his toxin-laden gloves. “Take care of these,” he said, holding out a trash bag he’d hastily dumped the clothes into, “and have the recruits wear Woodscout uniforms until they’re ready.” He smiled at them both -- a smile that wasn’t returned as Pikeman took the garbage bag and passed it off to Petrol like the contents were poisonous (which, of course, they _ weren’t. _Anymore). “I’m sure you have a _few_ spares lying around?”

It wasn’t kind, he supposed, watching Pikeman scowl and stalk out of the tent with only the most perfunctory salute, to remind the Woodscouts how very much they needed his help. It wounded their pride, and might risk building resentment; his elders had taught him better, that more followers of Xemüg were caught with honey than vinegar.

But he wasn’t perfect, and while it wasn’t especially nice, it _was_ satisfying. “When they’re dressed,” he continued to the one scout who remained, staring at him with a blankly impassive expression, “please bring them here so I can give them their orders.” 

Petrol nodded again with a small grunt of affirmation, and as the tent fell shut and darkened the small, cool area, Daniel let out a deep breath and began gathering up his cleaning supplies.

He wasn’t sure what his favorite part of his work was, but talking to the newly-purified souls -- his own careful labor given physical form -- was certainly one of them.

* * *

Daniel had seen his fair share of recruits, and so he was well aware of the different responses there could be to the purification process. It had taken him a few tries to find the right combination of chemicals to induce the best response, and even after he’d perfected every step of the process, there were always hardier, filthier souls that needed a longer stay in order to fully rid themselves of the negative influences lingering in their bodies. They were easy to spot -- dazed, disgruntled, complaining of headaches and dry mouth; still suggestible (and therefore easy enough to get back into the sauna), but not nearly as cooperative and pure as they needed to be.

Never before had someone simply failed to be affected at all.

Kevin shrugged, looking itchy and out-of-place in the highly starched Woodscouts uniform that appeared to be at least a size too small. The effect was grotesquely absurd, a grown man dressed up as a little boy. “Not sure what to tell you,” he said with an exaggeratedly apathetic drawl. “Guess I’ve just taken too many different drugs for that stuff to work.”

Daniel felt the blood rush under his skin, heating his face, and immediately turned to the other two -- who by all appearances had responded just fine to the purification. “Welcome to the army of Xemüg,” he said, a halfhearted abridgment of the speech he’d prepared. “Petrol here will show you to your tent, and later today I’ll stop by to talk about what happens next!”

(If the excitement in his voice had to fight its way out through gritted teeth, who except him would notice?)

“Hail Xemüg,” one of them -- Lawrence, he believed, known colloquially as “Weird Larry” -- lowed, following Petrol and the other recruit out of the tent with the big-eyed obedience of a cow. Kevin winced, and Daniel remembered how quickly he’d agreed to join the Woodscouts once he saw the old man. _ There’s something there, _ he noted, choosing not to interrogate the strange stab of displeasure that struck his chest at the thought. _ Xemüg be praised. _

“Hold on there!” he said as Kevin made to file out with the others, taking his arm. “We need to have a quick chat before you go along with your friends!” A faded tattoo snaked out from under the short sleeves of his uniform, and he was able to make out the red curves of rose petals and long silvery-gray hair before he lifted his gaze to meet Kevin’s. Eye contact was important; it established a bond early and inspired a sense of friendship.

Kevin’s eyes, muted, earthy green and ringed with either smudged makeup or severe sleep deprivation (though one could of course never discount the possibility of both), did not seem particularly inspired to friendship. They hovered somewhere between amused and hostile; absurdly, Daniel felt like he was both observed and judged, like this strung-out drug dealer saw through his charade, knew exactly what he was planning and scoffed at it. The purification chamber had suffused his complexion with artificial rosiness, which combined with the ill-fitting kids’ uniform contrasted so harshly with the razor edges of his cheekbones and jaw, the stubble that shadowed his face and made it look dirty despite the sauna, that the effect was laughable.

How could someone who looked like _ that_, who lived the kind of pathetic, worthless life Daniel had picked up details about from rumors among the townsfolk, be judgemental of anything Daniel had accomplished? 

The thought gave him a burst of confidence, mingled with irritation -- something about the expression reminded him of that little brat, Max -- and he brightened his smile and said, “I certainly hope that the purification sauna refreshed you! We have a lot of work to do.”

“We do, huh?”

“Of course we do!” Keeping up the happy-go-lucky camp counselor persona was hard enough around that idiot David, but doing so in the face of such obvious apathy was hard enough to make a tendon in his throat twitch. “We have to help make the Woodscouts the best they can be, with the help of the great Xemüg. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He snorted and opened his mouth to reply, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face and he paused. “_Is _ it?” he muttered, more to himself than to Daniel. He ruffled his hair, damp from the sauna and flopping in his face like a teen idol’s. “I fucking hated the Woodscouts as a kid.”

Daniel was taken aback by the apparent honesty. He . . . really wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “But you’re here.”

Kevin shrugged, one side of his mouth twitching upward in a rueful half-smile. “I guess I am.”

He waited for any sort of follow-up. He was used to difficult cases, but usually getting them into the purification chamber was the difficult part. This . . . was new, and with everything he was trying to juggle at the moment -- building Xemüg’s ranks, the new camp counselor responsibilities he still hadn’t managed to fully escape, rubbing the Camp Campbell residents’ noses in how much better than them he was, not to mention watching the stars and planning for the most ambitious sacrifice of his career -- he didn’t have much patience for enigmatic lowlifes with distracting eyes. “Does it have anything to do with what I said in town?” he tried -- stupidly, hopefully. At an utter loss for how else to deal with the situation. “About the Negabytes’ Fortress, and Xemüg?”

“Oh god, no. Not even a little bit.” The response was instantaneous and amused, and set Daniel’s teeth on edge.

“So do you _ ever _think for yourself?” he snapped, crossing his arms and looking away. “Or is this kind of thing normal for you?”

Kevin shrugged, seeming thoughtful. “You’d actually be surprised how many weird things happen when Dirty Kevin goes with the flow,” he said, then grinned at Daniel. “Well, maybe _ you _wouldn’t.”

He took in a sharp breath, unsettled by the catlike eyes narrowed at him. What did that even mean? Was he being insulted? Was it a comment on how _ he _was strange, and must be used to “weird things” because of his beliefs? The smile made it seem almost friendly, but there was a sharp edge to it, a glint of less-than-pure-white teeth that gave his words fangs. Or maybe it was merely a meaningless observation, one of those friendly non-statements that passed for communication among the common rabble that he’d survived thousands of in his positions as a camp counselor. Or was it just the meaningless chatter of a drug-addled loser?

_ More importantly _ , he thought, a small voice in the back of his head dripping with disgust, _ why does it _ _ matter__? _

Daniel took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes and counting to fourteen -- the lucky, holy number of Xemüg -- then refocused his gaze on Kevin. “Well, I’m thrilled to see you here with us now!” he said, the chirrupy-sweet tone of his voice giving him a headache that he tried to smile past. “But I sure do appreciate your willingness to follow your feelings! That’s a very important part of our little community.”

“Dirty” Kevin’s expression seemed to reflect Daniel’s own pain. He sighed and tilted his head back toward the ceiling, scuffing his shoes along the dirt floor. They hadn’t had any shoes in the new recruits’ sizes, so he was wearing his ratty white sneakers, no socks. “When do I get my clothes back?” he said suddenly, tipping his chin down to meet Daniel’s eye. He shoved his hands into his shorts pockets with exaggerated difficulty, something dark and almost challenging in his smirk. “These aren’t all that comfy, _ boss_.”

He had a point. The Woodscout uniforms weren’t tailored with an adult in mind, so while Kevin wasn’t brawny by any means, the clothing stretched tight across his chest and shoulders and dug into his upper arms (Daniel hoped bitterly that it was uncomfortable), making them look bulkier than they surely were. Everything was too small, including the ridiculous-looking shorts -- Kevin’s hands barely fit into the child-sized pockets up to the knuckles, and strained against the sturdy green fabric -- and his brain

\-- in the inexplicable way memories do -- 

called up an inane phrase that had been oft-repeated at his most recent camp before Campbell, the rally cry of the silly female counselors as they watched their reality TV and jeered and catcalled at their favorite male contestants, clapping to punctuate each dumb word -- 

_ “Thick thighs save lives!” _

\-- and making him wish for a brief moment that he could ascend that entire camp again.

“I’m not your boss,” he replied, hastily turning away and striding to the tent’s entrance as though he was expecting something vital to appear at his doorstep. “We’re all part of a family here!” _ For now_. 

Daniel could feel Kevin’s amusement burning into the back of his head, hot and bright like a star collapsing, and he had the distinct skin-crawling sense that turning around would actually blind him so instead he focused his gaze on the barren grass outside his tent, the little colony the Woodscouts were scraping together in his image. “Family, huh?” A snort, a soft rustle like the shifting of clothing. “So would that make you the da --”

“Petrol!” _Oh thank Xemüg, _he thought, snatching the pile of white clothing from the approaching Woodscout’s arms. “Will you please go find Edward? I have something I need you all to prepare for the upcoming . . . celebration.”

There was a soft grunt Daniel chose to take as affirmation, and then they were alone again, the closing tent flap slicing like a shadow through the sunlight that had managed to squeeze its was into the tent.

He held the bundle of soft clothes in his arms and watched the room darken. The sounds of the world outside were muffled much more than they should be by just a barrier of thin cloth, and he wondered idly what kinds of materials the Woodscouts had been able to procure for the camp; maybe he could take some of it with him when this was all over, if it seemed usef --

“What the fuck did you do to my stuff?” A pair of hands darted into his view, large and blunt-fingered and perpetually unclean -- the kind where dirt and grime settle in under the fingernails and in skin’s creases, and no amount of washing can purify them again -- and ripped the clothes from his grip. “Holy shit, man! What the hell happened to my clothes?!”

Daniel could still feel the echoes of Kevin’s fingers as they closed around his clothing, the tingling shadow-imprint of an indirect brush with another living thing. He shuddered at the thought of those filthy hands so close to his own, lifting his head to meet _ Dirty _Kevin’s furious gaze. “It’s called bleach,” he said, keeping his voice carefully measured and patient. “Some people use it to keep things clean.”

“Yeah, like crime scenes!” He hugged the shirt close, sniffing it. “Ugh, it smells like . . . nothing.” Shooting Daniel a confused look, he smelled the sweatshirt again, burying his face in it far enough that some of his damp hair caught the clothes’ static and crackled, sticking up. “How the hell do you make it smell like literally _ nothing?” _

Daniel shrugged, reaching into his bag of supplies and pulling out a box of Literally Nothing! brand detergent (it was his favorite scent, Uncaring Void). “I think you’ll learn to appreciate how simple and pure life can be with all of the toxins stripped away,” he said, remembering at the last moment that he was supposed to be smiling. Good leaders encouraged joy by example, after all. “Soon enough you won’t want anything else.”

The expression that twisted Kevin’s face was one of pure disgust. “You can’t just steal someone’s stuff and ruin it!”

“If you’d just been purified like you were supposed to you wouldn’t _ care _about your clothes!” he snapped.

Kevin replied with a contemptuous noise in the back of his throat (disgusting), fumbling with the buttons of his Woodscouts shirt and trying to pull it over his head at the same time. “Fuck you,” he muttered, shrugging into his newly clean undershirt before tugging his belt apart.

“Wh -- what’re you doing?” Daniel took a step back, one hand reaching up to fiddle with the neckline of his polo shirt, as though to remind himself that at least _ he _wasn’t rudely exposing himself in front of a strange man. “What -- why are -- don’t do that here!”

He popped the button of his shorts and then paused, putting his hands on his hips; the weight of the belt, still in its loops, tugged the fabric apart, revealing a triangle of light gray boxers kept from full view only by a zipper and the defiance of gravity. “Would you like to go outside?” he asked, his tone and manner perfectly reasonable except for a distractingly infuriating smirk. Daniel crossed his arms and glared, and after a moment Kevin shrugged and shimmied out of the remainder of the uniform. He kicked the offending clothes in Daniel’s direction, where they landed on his feet.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he lifted his chin, refusing to acknowledge the indignity of the situation. The clothes were still warm from being so recently worn, and after a few moments Daniel bent down and snatched them up, folding them and setting them aside before the heat could fully leach from Kevin’s clothing to his own. There was a persistent buzzing in his ears, and he could feel that his cheeks were flushed and he was so full of rage that it made his fingers shake.

He was _ not _going to lose another camp on this gods-forsaken lake.

Not when he was so close.

When he looked up, Kevin was fully dressed in his purified clothing and had wandered to the tent’s entrance, pulling the flap back slightly and peering through the sliver at the outside world. “Is it the same?” Daniel asked despite himself, joining him; to his surprise Kevin moved out of the way, lifting the flap further so they could both look out, and the small consideration forced a few more words out of him: “As when you were a scout?”

“Sort of.” Kevin shrugged, his face and voice disinterested but his eyes scanning the campgrounds with disconcerting intensity -- alert and wily in a way Daniel wasn’t used to seeing from anyone else dressed all in white. As Daniel watched, he sucked a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it with one sharp canine as he took in the activity. Flecks of black darkened the roots of his lashes and clung to the soft, slightly-baggy skin below his eyes, eyeliner that refused to sweat off in the purification sauna, and the stubble darkening his pale cheeks and chin seemed like ugly trees dotting a barren, desolate landscape.

At proximity Kevin looked old, and tired, and faded. Like he might be made of smoke, like if Daniel brushed against him he would just disappear.

_ “Let us help you_._” _ It was one of his most effective lines -- disarmingly earnest, delivered at a moment when he could soften his frenetic cheerful facade and put up something gentler and seemingly more honest in its place. Even the most reluctant recruit might falter in the face of something so obviously well-meaning; at the core of even the most impure soul was a seed of politeness, instilled in kindergarten, that balked at the idea of turning down such _ good _intentions. It also worked because no one ever truly wants to turn down free help, even if they don’t think they need it. 

And Daniel had made a fine art out of convincing people he just wanted to give them that free help -- in no small part because he half believed it himself.

After all, weren’t his newest disciples happier than they’d been that very morning, in town? There they’d been plagued by worries of survival, of the complicated and unnecessary ins and outs of human relationships and the unforgiving rules of society. Here, they had nothing to be afraid of, nothing to _ think _ about. Backlit by the golden glow of late afternoon, Kevin looked haggard. Weary. Toxins the sauna hadn’t been able to remove draped over and dripped off of him, weighed down his shoulders and etched deep lines in his face.

It would take so little to lift all of that disgusting waste off of him. For the short remainder of his life, Dirty Kevin could finally be clean, and truly happy.

Daniel could give that to him.

_ Let me help you_. 

He opened his mouth to say as much when Kevin spoke: “I mean, I always felt like I was forced to be here as a kid, but I don’t remember the Woodscouts having _ actual _hostages before.” Without turning his head, he glanced at Daniel, his mouth twitching into something too dry and sardonic to truly be called a smile. “I wouldn’t put it past that zitty little twerp, but somehow I kiiinda feel like maybe the maniacal cult leader is why we’ve got captives.”

Daniel hummed, steepling his hands in front of his mouth (and knowing it made him look both more thoughtful and more intimidating). “Golly, so much to respond to,” he replied. “I’d hardly call myself maniacal, for starters! I think we’ve been getting along just swell, don’t you?” He continued without waiting for a response. “And I certainly don’t think of myself as a _ leader _ here. We’re all --”

“Just one family,” Kevin finished in unison with him, making a great show of rolling his eyes and sighing.

Daniel’s grin widened. “I’m so pleased to see you’re getting on board!” he said cheerfully, refusing to take the bait.

He snorted. “Am I? According to who?”

“You _ did _say ‘we’ just a few moments ago,” Daniel reminded him, allowing just a small bit of humor to seep into his voice, “so, according to you, apparently.” 

Kevin’s smirk widened, and for the first time since meeting him Daniel felt a thrill of satisfaction, of winning something genuinely difficult. Honestly, except for the painful failures at Camp Campbell everything had been so easy in Xemüg’s service that he hadn’t had anything _ close _to this kind of challenge in years. He was almost looking forward to bringing this stubborn, dangerous reprobate to heel without the use of his usual strategies.

“I think you’ll need to stay close by for the time being,” he decided aloud, noticing Edward approaching the tent, “since you haven’t been properly inoculated yet. Why don’t you sit in on this meeting, and then we’ll see about getting this place set up for another person?”

“Scared I’ll run away and get into trouble?” Kevin turned to face him fully, the smirk bordering on a full-on smile. At Daniel’s expense, surely, but he would take it as a small victory.

His answering expression was warm, welcoming, and bland. “You could say that,” he agreed mildly, “but there are plenty of people who would think of it as an honor!”

“No worries, boss. I’m _ honored _all right.” He snorted, retreating back into the relative dim and cool of the tent. He took a seat at the small table the Woodscouts had managed to set up, too-clever gaze already roaming over the papers and maps laid out there.

Oh, he was going to be a handful. Daniel couldn’t decide if the prospect was more exciting or frustrating. He followed Kevin to the table, scooping up the more confidential papers in the pretense of organizing them.

“What are you guys actually doing?” The question was softer than his usual gruff bleat, but the suddenness of it made Daniel jump. Fighting irritation, he continued tidying the workspace and avoided eye contact. “Like, seriously.”

He sighed, pushing back the reflexive desire to tell Kevin to just be quiet and do what he was told. He was going to succeed this time, and if success required winning over a suspicious drug dealer, then so be it. Lifting his head, he fixed Kevin with a warm smile, tilting his head to the side until he felt his neck pop.

“I just want everyone to feel safe,” he said with a shrug. “That’s all.”


End file.
